Bubble Dancer
by WinterRepublic
Summary: It always fascinated me at how taken Harry was with bubbles. He would reach up and try to grab them but at the same time, save them. They popped each time. When I asked, he told me to think of them as lives. The next time, I found myself dancing with him.


_**Disclaimer: **If JKR knew what I was doing with her characters, she'd smash my laptop and run over it thousands of times with a car before pouring tea all over it and laughing as it smoked in its untimely demise…_

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_**Disclaimer: **__Are you serious guys? I own diddly-squat. I own only the bubble dancing part._

**Title:** Bubble Dancer

**Art: **Not at the moment, no.

**Warnings: **IMPLIED SLASHSS/HP, DM/HP

**Summary: **It always fascinated me at how taken Harry was with bubbles. He would reach up and try to grab them but at the same time, save them. They popped each time. When I asked, he told me to think of them as lives. The next time, I found myself dancing with him…

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**x.X.x _…If you don't hold them, they'll float away… _x.X.x**

And I found myself dancing with him…

It always fascinated me at how taken Harry was with bubbles. I was wandering the grounds of the school the day I first saw him. He was smaller than the average male students of Hogwarts, so that made it easier to put a name to which it was that I was seeing. Small lithe body with windblown hair and eyes as green as the grass around him. The sun hung low, splashing reds and violets across the canvas of the sky. The flowers and trees danced slightly with the wind.

The first day I saw him, I just saw him dancing with the wind. He jumped here and there, waving his arms in the air to create an upward gust of wind. He ran here and there, chasing nothing. I watched him as he collapsed onto Mother Earth's bosom and cry. I had never felt the urge to hit him more strongly as I had then. Why should he get the right to cry over the defeat of the Dark Lord? So couple of his friends died here and there, but defeating the Dark Lord was something he was raised to do…sacrifice had to be made to be a hero.

I always hated him for that.

He was a hero the minute he entered Hogwarts while I was automatically the next Lucius Malfoy. I am not my father. I admit that he had done horrible things under the 'reign of terror' but that was him. This is me. I was hated the minute I walked through the doors…and I hated him for that. His father is some kind of hero and mine is some sort of villain. I can attribute that he was a harsh and demanding man, but he was my father, it was for my own good. It wasn't like he hit me or anything. He was as caring as a political father can be. Then Potter had gotten him sent to Azkaban.

I'll probably never find it within myself to forgive him for that.

The second night, I saw them. He was now no longer chasing after nothing, but he was chasing after bubbles. They weren't small, but they weren't all that big either. There were thousands of them swirling in the wind, dancing around Harry, almost as if teasing him to catch them. Each had almost a distinct colour to them, but I couldn't really tell from the distance between us.

The distance only seemed to diminish over time. Each day I had come closer and closer towards him. I gravitated to him just as I did in school. To be honest, I had never really resented the fact that he had turned down my hand first year. Sure, I was disappointed, but I had also realised that I could help in a way that he trusted me to. He trusted me to hate him. Just as he trusted Severus to hate him.

Severus.

I never thought that I'd see the day that Snape and Potter were on amiable terms with one another. It seemed that Snape knew how to play his part better than I did myself. Every insult thrown and every comment made, each had their own little messages beneath the faux words. 'You stupid boy' would hold the words 'I'm sorry' or the words 'You disgust me' would hold 'I love you so much I don't believe it myself'. They were always dancing around one another like magnets…like the bubbles Harry chases every morning, noon, and night. I wonder if that's what he thinks of them as.

Does he think of Severus as he chases them? Does he think of freedom? What makes him do this? Why?

He runs until there is just one bubble left.

He cries.

The third night he caught me. Or, at least he knew I was there. He still chased the bubbles, almost as if I was not there. He glanced in my direction a few times, but he never ceased in his dance. He spoke his first words to me since the final battle this night. His voice was soft, whispering with the winds across my face.

"Help me…"

Two bubbles had remained this time, but one popped in his hands.

He cried again that night. I almost began to wonder if ever there was a night that Harry did not cry, would he not be out here bubble dancing? That made me wonder what he cried for every night, who he cried for. I sat with him then, and held him. I still don't know what compelled me to hold him, but I did. When I placed my arms around him, I held the distinct fear in my heart that I would break him. He shook with enough force that I thought he would fall apart in my arms at the next great wind.

I avoided him the fourth night.

I kept watch from the library window. I watched him dance, cry and sleep until the sun rose again; bringing the restless figure up with its rays. I often wondered that if given the choice, would Harry ever choose to be a sun beam. Or would he choose to be my heart?

Why does he chase bubbles? It must be some stupid childish game. I thought he looked foolish.

On the fifth night, I stood a little closer to Harry. I watched his dance, his race for…something… and I watched his momentary lapse in sanity as he whispered words to the wind. I watched as thousands of the small bubbles popped on the ground and in the air; his hands. I watched as Harry, in his futile attempt; try to grasp them as some of them floated too far. Too far for him to catch or bring back.

"I can't do this all by myself…"

I cried with him this night.

I never knew how much tears I had for the family and friends I had lost until I had sat and cried with him. I held him and he held me. We embraced one another in a tight grip. My tears felt foreign on my face; Harry kissing each away. The gentle caress of Harry's soft lips lulled me from sanity to insanity and back again. This was so wrong, but it felt so right.

I wondered if he ever held Severus this way, if he ever kissed his tears of pain and sadness away. Had he whispered gentle words to him until he fell asleep, or if he had planted a loving kiss across his furrowed brow? Had they ever shared a moment as intimate as this, or had Harry loved Severus as much as he should.

For a moment, I wanted to know. If he could love Snape, then surly he could love me too?

On the sixth night, I stood next to him in the curtain of bubbles. Now that I was up closer to them, I could see the faces of individual people swirling on the shiny surface. I watched him try to save them all. Yes, he was trying to save them. Perhaps he had lost his sanity?

"Why?" I had asked him one night, "Why?"

Harry had not stopped dancing, but answered:

"I'm trying to save their lives…"

Save their lives? I wanted to laugh kick and scream; I wanted to hug, hold and kiss him. I wanted to pop every single bubble in the air and make him look at me. I wanted to shake him and make him see more than the bubbles floating on the air. I reached out to grasp him when a bubble floated by. I swiped at it in an attempt to pop it or otherwise. When Harry cried out, I stopped my movements as he tried to usher the bubble back into the arms of the wind; within his grasp. I looked at the face on the bubble.

It was my father.

That night we cried together and offered what comforts we could. I saw the last bubble pop in his hands that night. It had the face of the snarky Potions Master on it. Severus had died in his arms. It all clicked into place as he sat, stroking my hair. The words Harry had spoken each night: 'Help me', 'I can't do this all by myself' and tonight; 'I'm trying to save their lives', all clicked into place. Harry tried to save their lives. Harry tried to save thousands of lives, but he couldn't do it all by himself. He was just one boy.

Just…

One…

Ordinary…

Boy…

On the seventh night, I watched as hundreds of lives disappeared right beneath Harry's hands. I saw the lives of his friends slip right through his grasp. I saw the lives of his family not even hold a chance. I stood next to him as he danced this night.

And I found myself dancing with him…

**x.X.x _…But they pop every time they touch your hand…_ x.X.x**

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**A/N:**

Woohoo, now that this is out f my system, I plan on finishing the next chapters of 'Silent Witness' and 'Xenophobia' if I still have that. I still have to post up the first chapter of 'Living in Faith', but not to worry, it's getting there…I just have to locate the flash drive that it's on.

So, anyway, this was based off of a true life story. I might write the brother/sister fic to this one day, but it still smarts to read this one sometimes. Yah, I know my language is atrocious, but I plan on fixing that as soon as I can get my English CD to work for me. I have horrible sentence structure.

Please R&R. I will love you forever.


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